A news crew was already hovering nearby.
Great. If I died, it would be on national TV.
I took a deep breath and pulled on the helmet.
Immediately, my world shrunk. My own breaths were loud in my ears, like being underwater; and my peripheral vision was limited. I was detached, insulated, alone.
EOD operators called this the long walk—and it always felt longer than it really was. Always. It was the most alone I’d ever felt in my life.
Everything was about this moment: me, my skills, my ability to keep Amira alive, and to stop other people from dying. Collateral damage.
My senses were limited, but heightened, too. I felt remote, cut off from everything, but focused on this one task—one last task.
I stepped forward and became visible to the public. Panic broke out and I faintly heard the screams. Civilians were streaming from the intersection, stampeding, jumping over each other, crushing those who got in their way.
As I walked towards Amira, time slowed down.
I saw a piece of paper fluttering from somewhere above, and the woman whose mouth was open in an ‘O’ as a police officer dragged her behind the barrier. I was aware of faces at the hundreds of windows that ringed Times Square—windows that could turn into lethal glass knives and able to shred a human being if the main device functioned. I could hear the muffled sounds of a police loudhailer: Keep back from the windows! Stay behind the barriers! And the civilians who didn’t know better, all angling for a closer look.
I saw Plan B being actioned: hastily erected blast barriers moved into place in a broad circle surrounding Amira. It would help. A little.
Amira still hadn’t moved, although she must be aware of our presence by now.
What would I find when I reached her? A detonator attached to a larger device was my guess. Hopefully not a timer.
The distance between us grew shorter and the heat inside the suit began to grow. The fan that was supposed to keep the helmet cool had stopped working. I slapped the side of my head and the fan buzzed briefly, then stuttered to a halt. Bloody batteries had run out. Sweat was already beading on my forehead. I lifted the visor for some fresh air.
And slowly, her head turned towards me.
It was chilling, the way she moved with such unnatural slowness. And behind that veil I saw her eyes, those damned eyes that had haunted me night after night.
I blocked the emotion out. Emotion got in the way. Emotion got you killed.
“Amira. Tell me what we’re dealing with.”
Behind the veil, her eyes widened and she shook her head slightly.
“Just talk slowly. Concentrate. Tell me everything you know, what you’ve seen, what you’ve heard.”
Again the widening of the eyes. Again the shake of the head.
“Amira, talk to me!”
I thought I heard her whimper, but I couldn’t be sure because of the damned helmet.
Prioritise! I knew that fact that her status as an agent had most likely been compromised prior to exploitation as a suicide bomber meant that I had to expect booby-traps—probably several of them.
I tried again.
“Can you tell me anything?”
She closed her eyes and shook her head. Frustrated, I ground my teeth.
“Is the device on a timer?”
She nodded her head imperceptibly, the smallest motion. Then she shook her head. Yes and no? What the hell did that mean?
I spoke into my radio.
“Smith, it’s on a timer, I think. I don’t know how long I’ve got—the terrorists could be long gone.” I turned back to Amira. “Trembler switch?”
I thought that was unlikely since she must have been driven here. Even so…
She shook her head again. More progress.
And then something occurred to me.
“Are you able to speak to me?”
A shake of the head.
“Is something physical stopping you from speaking?”
She nodded quickly, her eyes wide and filled with fear.
“Okay, this is what I’m going to do. I’m going to cut the burqa off you. Understand?”
Again, she nodded.
“Stay still. Don’t move. It’s going to be okay.”
Am I lying?
I took out my knife and kneeled down with difficulty to pick up the hem of the burqa, then ran the blade smoothly through the cotton to cut away the robes from her body. The black material pooled at her feet, but my eyes were glued to the huge bulge strapped to her waist—a large container that I knew was filled with explosives.
The device had multiple independent circuits with obstacles to accessing and neutralizing them.
I had hardly any equipment, no X-ray, and no time.
I could see boxes, joined by tape, suspicious lumps, potted circuits that couldn’t be exploited without risk.
Amira’s hands and feet were cuffed together, so she couldn’t have moved if she’d wanted to, and a piece of black duct tape had been placed over her mouth.
Her eyes moved frantically, and I could see fear reflected in her eyes.
A wash of anger sent a red mist over my vision but I pushed the fury away to assess the device.
I needed to be cool and calculating.
Ice cold would save our lives.
Emotions wouldn’t.
Moving carefully, I inserted my knife into the container to uncover the device I had to neutralize.
Detonator. Check.
Explosives. Check.
Multiple booby-traps to stop removal of the detonator and RC. Shit.
At least the booby-trap hadn’t been based on movement rather than removal; it would have made the job a lot harder.
More lethal.
But the detonator looked as though it had been heavily taped to the det cord, wound around numerous times with the same heavy-duty duct tape that covered Amira’s mouth. Worse still, the det cord was attached to a booby-trap device. It meant that I wouldn’t be able to hand the detonator to anyone to put in a special sleeve to reduce the blast and prevent it initiating the main charge, in the event that it functioned in the first place.
Fuck!
This would have to be a non-intrusive neutralization—if I could get to the detonators to cut them from the rest of the explosive, I could reduce it from a lethal device to an injury. Yes, there would still be an explosion. I’d be largely protected—although I might lose my hands—but Amira wouldn’t survive.
I thought through my process and made some decisions.
First thing I had to do was cut the radio command wire. I located it easily, checked that wasn’t booby-trapped and cut through it.
Amira had her eyes squeezed shut, but when I glanced up, she opened them again.
I was going to need her help to get through this.
“You’re doing great. I’m going to use bolt cutters to free your hands and then I’m going to get that tape off your mouth. But listen to me—it’s really important that you don’t move, okay? Even though you’ll feel like you want to move, don’t. Understand?”
Her eyes widened, but she swallowed and nodded slowly.
I pulled a small pair of bolt cutters from the tools strapped to my hip and removed the handcuffs, seeing the blood and bruises around her wrists where she’d tried and failed to pull her hands free. Her arms trembled, but she didn’t move.
“Good girl,” I said softly, and I didn’t know if she heard me.
I deliberately didn’t free her feet because I couldn’t risk her deciding to run. I wouldn’t be able to catch her wearing 80 pounds of armoured bomb suit.
Working as gently as I could, I removed the tape from her mouth, feeling sick as she cried out.
“James! They’ve got a timer as well as a detonator that can be set off by a mobile phone. It’s underneath the main charge. Umar hid it.” Her words were breathless and laboured. “I’m so sorry!” she gasped. “I’m so sorry!”
I had to ignore her pain; I could
only focus on the job I had to do.
“How long do I have?”
“I don’t know! I don’t know! He just laughed and said I’d meet my brother soon!”
No timescale.
“Okay, try not to think about that.”
I relayed the intel to Smith.
I knew that I had to find the timer, which could be as small as an ice cube and hidden within the main charge.
“Amira, I’m going to need you to reach the RC because I can’t access it, but you can. See where those wires are next to your stomach?”
“Yes … I think … I think … if you can cut through some of the tape, I’ll be able to reach it.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “My hands are smaller than yours.”
“Okay, we’ll try that, but not till I tell you.”
I cut through the first layer of tape carefully, brutally aware that Amira was sweating freely and that her body heat alone could set off the detonator.
Sweat dripped down my face and I had to wipe my eyes with a piece of material from her burqa.
A second piece of tape dangled from the sack of explosives tied around her waist. There must be sixty pounds of HME. If it detonated, there wouldn’t be enough of her body parts to put in an egg cup. And if I survived, I’d be wishing I hadn’t.
“It’s looser,” she whispered. “I think … I can reach the detonator … just need to… Oh no, I think that’s the timer, but…”
“Wait!”
My voice cracked out, freezing her movements.
“Booby-trap next to the detonator. Don’t move.”
Her body began to shake, making it difficult for me to work.
“Amira, you’ve got to stay calm.”
I could tell that she was seconds away from full-blown panic. I was glad I’d left her ankles cuffed.
Her teeth chattered but suddenly her gaze was fixed on something behind me. I twisted around, cursing the weight of the bomb suit.
Clay! That mad bastard! He was wearing a Kevlar police vest and SWAT helmet with a pistol holstered at his side as he limped toward us.
“Jesus, what are you doing here?”
“Thought I’d see how you’re doing, brother,” he said, attempting a grin. Then his gaze softened. “Hey, Amira. Good to see you again, girl. You’re doing great, honey. James is going to help you, so you just gotta stay calm and let the man work. You think you can do that?”
The trembling lessened and she nodded, tears hovering in her eyes.
“You look t-t-terrible,” she stuttered.
“Still better looking than him though, right?” Clay chuckled.
“Keep talking to her,” I said quietly. “Keep her calm.”
“Will do, brother.” Then he muttered out of the side of his mouth. “Smith said to check the ECM unit. He’s got another on the way, eta 15 minutes.”
I pulled the small box out of my pocket and showed it to him: 13 minutes.
Shit!
I glanced at Clay, and he caught the unspoken message. I hoped Smith could pull off a miracle, and then I wondered if God had a limited number of miracles for each day—because right now we needed at least two. Three would be better.
The RC dets looked suspicious. There was a booster charge, a fist-sized knot of det-cord. I could cut most of it off, but there’d still be some attached to the detonators.
“Clay, hold the det wires away from the device.”
“On it.”
Would that be enough to stop an explosion? It definitely wouldn’t do Clay or Amira much good.
I kept working at the tape, layer by layer, making a space where I could reach the detonator.
I found the fragmentation easily—two inch nails, probably a couple of thousand, wrapped in resin then covered in tape. It would be a hell of a job to cut through all that.
“Amira, I need you to start cutting through this tape here, while I work on the timer, okay? Just go slowly, piece by piece. Okay?”
She swallowed.
“My … my hands are shaking.”
“It’s okay, you can’t do any damage—just don’t stab me with the knife.”
Her eyes widened and she gave a jerky nod of her head as I handed her my penknife, showing her where to start cutting.
Then I handed Clay the ECM, so he could keep one eye on the time we had left, and the other on Amira.
Eleven minutes.
“What’s a nice girl like you doing hanging around with this loser?” Clay said to Amira.
I couldn’t see her face but a soft, strangled sound came out of her.
“Well, there’s no accounting for taste. I guess I’ll just have to settle for being the badass best friend. Now, when are you going to introduce me to your sister?”
“N-never,” said Amira shakily, concentrating on the lump of resin and tape. “T-too good for you.”
“Ooh, harsh,” he said, sounding sad as he watched me cut through another layer of tape. “Crash and burn. Um, I don’t mean that.”
Amira laughed, her tone nearing hysteria.
Ten minutes.
“How you holding up, honey?” said Clay, trying to keep Amira concentrating on him.
“I’m trying,” she said quietly. “Allah will guide me.”
“Ah, right. Go straight to the top—smart move. Well, as the Big Guy said, ‘We created you in pairs’.”
Amira’s voice was so soft, I hardly heard her.
“L-l-lucky.”
But I didn’t know what she meant by that.
Finally, I cut through the last layer of tape and the detonator was exposed. It was still very tight. I hoped Amira would be able to reach.
Nine minutes.
“Okay, Amira, listen to me carefully. I want you to insert your fingers here—where I’m holding open this space—and pull the detonator from the device. Slowly.”
She licked her lips and nodded.
I think we were all holding our breath as she worked to remove the detonator.
“I can’t reach it!” she said shakily. “I can’t get to it. I can’t…”
“Take your time. Look down—see that space there, on your left—work it free from there.”
Finally, the detonator came loose and I could work toward getting to the next one. Amira stared at it as if it was a snake about to bite her.
“So far, so good,” I breathed.
Eight minutes.
Now I’d extracted the second det, it was safer to unclip the batteries … one glance told me that they weren’t accessible.
Never a break when I needed one.
Umar had been thorough. He must have been laughing his arse off when he realized that we’d sent him the perfect plant for his plans.
I had to bypass the trap on the explosives’ container. I knew that cutting in was a high stress scenario and one slip … well, the three of us would be toast.
Thinking logically, I tried to assess the right places to target. It didn’t take me long to isolate the two green wires, but then I had to strip them using my wire cutters.
Seven minutes.
We were running out of time.
“James,” said Clay cautiously, “it might be a good time to take a stroll.”
He was trying to tell me that time was tight without making Amira freak out.
“Working on it, buddy,” I said shortly.
Suddenly Clay glanced up at the skyline.
“Shit,” he said softly, gritting his teeth. “We’ve got snipers on the roof!”
Amira moaned and her body shook.
“Tell them not to shoot!”
Clay tapped his earpiece.
“Smith, tell the snipers not to shoot! DO NOT SHOOT! Tell them she’s cooperating!”
Six minutes.
Anyone who’s ever had to strip the plastic off wire knows how easy it is to cut through the wire by mistake.
And once again, that would be bad.
Finally, I manged to clear off the plastic sheath.
Five minutes.
Sweat ran down my face and I had to take precious seconds to wipe my eyes clear again.
Think! THINK!
Wires were stripped, now I had to electronically interrogate the wires by a test meter, do some maths, then shunt or cut...
Four minutes.
Shunt or cut? Shunt or cut?! I had to decide.
“James, we have three minutes, buddy.”
Clay’s voice was urgent.
“Oh dear Allah! Go! Leave me!” Amira’s voice was shrill.
“You’d better go now, Clay,” I agreed, my voice strained. “Get to a safe distance.”
Amira whimpered.
“Clay, go now!” I ordered.
“Nope, not leaving you,” he said, his voice quiet.
“That Kevlar vest won’t protect you!”
Amira reached out, trying to push him away.
“Go!” she cried out. “Go, please! In the name of Allah, save yourself!”
“Never going to happen, honey.”
Her voice shook.
“James! Make him go! Both of you! Save yourselves!”
Two minutes.
“I’m nearly there, Amira. I’m not leaving you. I’ll never leave you.”
“James, please! Don’t die with me. Don’t die for me!”
One minute.
I stared up into her soft brown eyes, so haunted with pain, and so brave.
Clay reached out and clasped her hand.
“Pray with me, Amira.”
She grasped his hand as I grappled with the wire cutters, my hands slick with sweat, and Clay’s voice rang out, strong and sure.
“O God, you are my Lord. There is none worthy of worship except You. I rely upon You, and You are the Great Lord of the Throne. Whatever God wills happens, and whatever He does not will does not happen. O God I seek refuge in You…”
I finally got the traction I needed to cut the wire.
“Yes! I’ve just got to get rid of this vest!”
I started slicing through the Velcro that held the suicide vest in place, using my knife in brisk strokes. Finally, it fell free and I turned to throw it away from us.
But I was one long second too late.
Tick, tock.
Time’s up.
A ball of flames shot up as the detonator functioned, heat shearing across my shoulder, the explosion almost at grenade strength.
Instinctively, I threw myself forward across Amira, hearing the sound of shrapnel flying through the air and thudding into the bomb suit. My ears were ringing and my brain felt like jelly in my skull, but I could tell from the sound that the main charge hadn’t detonated. That, and the fact that I wasn’t dead.
TICK TOCK (EOD (Explosive Ordnance Disposal) Book 1) Page 17