Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 120165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
I was sitting on a car bomb.
58
BRONWYN
I dropped my phone. It fell into the footwell and lay there with the selfie cam still on and my own terrified face staring back at me. I couldn’t reach down to get it, to take another look under my seat. But I knew what I’d seen. I sat there with my breath coming faster and faster, trying to figure out what to do.
At that moment, Radimir emerged from the mansion and jogged towards the car. He headed straight for the driver’s side because he always insisted on driving. He was going to open the door and—“Don’t open the door!” I screamed frantically. Who knew what the bomb was hooked up to, and now I’d armed it by sitting down... “Don’t open the door!”
My voice was muffled by the thick glass and at first he thought I was joking, not wanting him to open the door and let the cold air in. He reached the car, put his hand on the door handle—
Then he saw the fear in my eyes and stopped, his face falling.
“There’s a bomb! There’s a bomb under my seat!” I took another panic breath, and my stomach suddenly heaved: I was actually going to throw up from fear. “It’s under my seat I don’t know what to do,” I sobbed.
Radimir fell to his knees, his eyes darting around the car, frantic. Then he planted his palm firmly against the glass. I reached up and pressed my hand to his.
“Help me,” I choked. Tears were running down my face.
He nodded hard. “I won’t leave you.” Then he turned and bellowed for Gennadiy.
First, the police showed up, four officers in two cruisers who had no idea what to do except cordon off the area and tell everyone to get back. When they approached Radimir, he turned from me just long enough to snap, “I’m not moving!” and they backed away.
Next the FBI showed up, alerted by the police. They tried to question everybody, including Radimir, but Mikhail took charge, batting their questions away with the skill of a politician.
Meanwhile, I sat alone in the cold, quiet car, slowly going insane. It’s amazing how hard it is to just sit still. First, my legs started to cramp, and I didn’t dare stretch them because that meant shifting my ass on the seat. Next, my ass started to go numb. And then the fear sent my mind spiraling down into what ifs, like when you’re standing on a cliff edge and you worry you might just involuntarily jump. What if I just got up? It would only take one rogue command from my brain, one quick push with my feet and—
Radimir pressed closer to the glass. “Miss Hanford!” he said firmly.
I looked up, panting. He hadn’t called me that in weeks.
“Listen to me,” he ordered. “I will get you out of this. I promise.”
I jerkily nodded. But my breathing had gone so tight, it felt like there was a metal band wrapped around my chest.
With a wail of sirens, the bomb squad arrived: two cars and a huge black truck. More cordons were set up, arguments broke out between the bomb squad and the FBI and Radimir was told to move again.
“I’m not leaving her,” he snarled.
The chief of the bomb squad, an overweight guy in his fifties, looked at me and his face softened. “You can stay for now,” he said at last. And he waved his team into position.
They didn’t dare open the doors so a hole was drilled through the door and a long, snake-like thing with a camera on the end was threaded through it to look under my seat. “Make sure they’re not looking up my skirt,” I told Radimir, trying to lighten things. But my voice came out as a dry croak and Radimir just looked at me with such deep, heartbreaking worry, that my smile crumbled.
The bomb technicians gathered around a laptop, watching what the camera saw. This might still be nothing. Maybe Radimir dropped something under the seat. Maybe it’s part of the car. God, what if that’s it, what if it’s just part of the heater for the heated car seat and all of this is for nothing, and I feel like a complete idiot.
Please please God let me be a complete idiot.
The chief of the bomb squad came over. “We can see explosives under your seat,” he said gently.
Radimir cursed in Russian. I closed my eyes and counted to three, trying not to throw up. “Can you unwire it—break it—” Jesus I’ve forgotten how to speak. “Defuse it?” I managed at last.
He inhaled, a doctor telling the patient it’s stage four. “We’re not sure how to proceed. We don’t know which of the car’s sensors the bomb’s wired into so we can’t open a door or a window.” He leaned closer. He had a reassuring manner: with his big, wide face and mostly bald head, he reminded me of an earnest little league coach. “But I’ve got a specialist coming in to take a look.”