Chapter Eleven

Jason was glad when Mae stepped outside, even though there was enough C-4 here to blow a crater in the Gulf of Mexico when it blew. It still made him feel better to know she wasn’t chatting with Dad anymore.

Now, in the blessed silence of the two men breathing, Jason could concentrate a little better on what he was looking at.

It was a highly sophisticated bomb connected to a timer he hadn’t seen in practical use because it was a bit complicated for the assholes he’d worked against in the Middle East. But it was widely used in World War II—a pencil timer. Basically, it was a long copper wire inside an aluminum tube connected to a glass vial of sulfuric acid. When the vial of acid was broken, it eroded the copper wire holding the striker back from the detonator. It was akin to something Snidely Whiplash would use in the old Rocky and Bullwinkle show, where the anticipation built until Dudley Do-Right saved the day.

But Jason was no Dudley Do-Right, and this situation was fucked. As soon as they’d walked in the door, they’d stepped on the vial and let loose the acid. Dear old Dad knew it and was surely anxiously awaiting their demise.

The only good thing about it was the fuse was long, and it would take a few hours to erode the copper wire inside the tube to the notch. There was a spot somewhere in the mechanism which was scored, to spill the acid full force down the remaining tube to the detonator. Of course, Jason didn’t know where the notch would be, he could only assume it was close to the actual mechanism of the bomb, or else the length across the room wasn’t even necessary. He hadn’t said anything to anyone because he didn’t want Mae to worry and he’d be just fine never speaking to his father ever again.

Which, the way things were looking, would be damn possible.

In addition to the antiquated fuse system, the bomb was booby trapped in half a dozen ways Jason could see. No telling what he couldn’t see.

If he disconnected the timer, the bomb would go off. If he tried to cut the wire to the detonator, the bomb would go off. Jason was trying to backtrack through all the wires, desperate to find one that would work, but so far, no luck.

There had to be something.

Good news was, he had between three and four hours to find it before the sulfuric acid eroded all the copper.

In the meantime, he was stuck in a room with his dad.

So, while he worked, Jason went into his head, as deep as possible. Usually, his head was a rather dank place, but it was preferable to his reality at the moment, and he needed to go somewhere to figure out this shit.

He ran through all the past lessons he’d had in EOD training—all the simulations—finding nothing that actually helped him here. Then he went through all the IED calls he’d gotten when he was actively serving, all the roadside bombs, landmines, and booby traps he’d found to detonate in the field.

Nothing.

So his fingers mindlessly worked, tracing wires, as his mind delved into more pleasurable memories. He knew it was a way of giving up, something he found awfully easy to do. Unless he found some sort of divine inspiration, they were all fucked, so he might as well remember the good things while he could.

Mae.

Her sweet skin, the soft sounds she made when he made her come, the look on her face when she was lost in sensation.

Nope. Inappropriate erections wouldn’t help.

Jason sat back on his heels and sighed, rubbing his hands over his face, pretending those weren’t tears in his eyes just now.

“Give up?”

He swiveled around to look at the man claiming to be his dad, who looked at him almost jovially.

“Fuck off.”

Jason turned back to the mess of wires, resisting the impulse to punch his fist into the mass of C-4.

“I didn’t think you’d have the intrinsic drive necessary to disarm it. In fact, you’ve already worked on it longer than I thought you would. I’m a little impressed.” The clink of glass told Jason the man was pouring another drink. It was, like, his fourth since they’d been in here, and Jason was surprised he wasn’t drunk yet. “Or maybe you’re just pretending to work on it so you don’t have to face me. Or her.”

That hit a little too close to the truth. Jason hadn’t given up per se, but he seriously had no clue how to disarm this bomb. None. If he were in the field, he’d have evacuated, taken cover, and detonated it. But he couldn’t do that here. There was no way off this floating oil rig. And no telling what sort of irreparable damage would be done by this much C-4 exploding in the Gulf.

A click sounded behind Jason, and then he heard, “I see my failsafe has arrived. A bit earlier than anticipated, but yay for you.”

He turned to find a man dressed in black fatigues holding a knife to Edgar’s throat with a Glock 19 trained at Jason’s head.

Holding his hands up, he knew he was in the presence of the Deltas. As many years as he’d served, he’d never actually worked with one. Not that being held at gunpoint by a Delta was optimal, but relief coursed through him nonetheless.

“Sergeant Jason Everly, USMC.” Without hesitation, he stood, “This is my rifle. There are many like it, but this one is mine—” He started reciting the Creed, as automatic as breathing, in an effort to identify himself as a friendly. Hopefully.

“Okay, stand down.” The man lowered his weapon and tightened his grip on Edgar, refocusing his attention.

“Indoctrinated well, weren’t you?” Edgar was speaking around the knife at his throat, oblivious to the danger. Or maybe he just didn’t care. “I knew the services would instill some sense of something good inside you.”

Within seconds, the Delta Force agent had him trussed up and gagged, immobilized on the sofa. Thankful for the lack of quips, Jason returned his focus to the bomb. A moment later, the Delta guy was behind him.

“EOD?”

“Yessir, but this one’s beyond me. If I were in the field, I’d clear everybody out and detonate. This is a bomb to dispose of, not disarm.”

“Timer?”

“Best I can tell, we have minimum of two hours, maximum of three. He used a pencil detonator.”

A dark, bushy eyebrow rose, and Jason simply shrugged. “WWII technology. Simple, but effective.”

Index finger to his throat, the Delta Force guy started speaking to his team. “We have two hours. Get the Cutter here, now, but get these hostages off first.” Turning back to Jason, he nodded, clearly not having time to shake hands. “I’m Ghost,” he said, and motioned vaguely around him, “My team. What do we have?”

He knelt and looked at the device with a low whistle. Jason gave him the rundown, and Ghost did pretty much what he’d done—traced the wires gently with his fingertips as he tried to mentally straighten the spaghetti.

“Why don’t you get Mae and find a Zodiac to get on? Y’all should get out of here,” Ghost said in a low murmur.

“Can you disarm it?”

“I can give it a shot.” Ghost zoned in on something over Jason’s shoulder, and then said, “We’re calling a bomb expert.” Pulling something out of his pocket, Jason watched as he set up a mini-tablet of some sort.

“We’re Skyping?” He waved to Mae, who was on the balcony watching silently through the glass.

“This guy is brilliant with bombs. Hands down.”

The window of the tablet opened, and a dark-haired guy Jason immediately recognized as more Special Forces showed. Something about the way they held themselves—almost like giant cats, feral predators totally in control of everything—sent a chill down Jason’s spine. Without preamble, he said, “Show me.”

Ghost held the tablet up and showed the bomb to the guy, slowly moving it around the mess of wires and then to the tubing that ran from the bottom of the bomb to the doorway where Mae had stepped on it.

“How long ago was the pencil broken?”

“About two hours,” Jason filled in as Mae came to his side. He put his arm around her and drew her closer, imparting as much comfort as he took from her. Just knowing she was here with him now was something he couldn’t put into words. But he needed to get her out of here now that there was a way off.

Another Delta operative came to the doorway. “Cutter’s here, hostages are disembarking. We’re taking off in ten.”

Ghost looked at the man. “Take her. We’ll stay and get this taken care of and meet you at the rendezvous.”

“Roger that.” The man came and reached for Mae’s elbow. She resisted, turning into Jason’s body.

“I want to stay.”

“Baby, you need to go. I’ll find you, I swear it. It’ll be okay.” He motioned to the video where the guy was looking at the spaghetti mess of wires with a pensive look on his face. “This guy will tell me what to do, I’ll do it, and we’ll have dinner tonight. My treat. We’ll find a great Thai place on the coast or something.”

Ghost was watching their interaction, as was the other guy in the room. “I’ll take care of her, I promise.” Turning back to Ghost, he said, “There’s a Jayhawk coming to pick up the hostiles in about fifteen.”

“Roger that.” Turning to Mae, Ghost softened his voice. “I know you don’t want to leave, but Fletch here will take good care of you. I’d trust him with my own Princess. And I’ll get your man off here, in one piece, safe and sound. Promise.”

Mae nodded once, squeezed Jason’s rib cage so hard he felt popping, and looked up at him with wide eyes full of tears.

“Promise.” He couldn’t resist kissing her, just in case. He couldn’t live an eternity in the afterlife if he hadn’t taken the opportunity to taste her lips one last time. She clutched him as if his thoughts were her own, only releasing him when he reluctantly pushed her away. “Now, go.” His voice was hoarser than he meant for it to be. But when she left, he managed to rein it in.

The man on the tablet spoke. “That was rough, man. I know it was, but we need to focus. Now, I’ll tell you this is one hairy motherfucker. But there’s a chance. And here’s what we’re going to do. Make sure there’s no oil pumping in case this thing blows. There should be emergency shutoff valves everywhere.”