Page 62 of On Fire

“I think we should check the buildings first,” I say. There are four steel rooms in front of us. Finn taps his earpiece and then makes a quick call to Carlson as we regroup. Looking around, he taps me on the shoulder, and we make our way back over to the buildings. His head swivels, checking for movement in case someone’s watching.

Bryce and Mateus meet us toward the front.

Finn looks at the three of us. “He could be watching us, either remotely or he’s on site. Any of these buildings could be booby trapped, and I don’t want to lose anyone else today.” He pauses for a moment while he tries to regain his composure.

“Boss, we hope for the best.” Bryce is looking at the buildings, not Finn. He means we don’t think about finding a body that someone may be setting us up.

Finn shakes his head. “We are still treating this as a rescue operation. Any guesses on which building we should try?”

“I’d say the one with the plant tipped over,” Mateus says, nodding to a doorway and a low-slung metal building straight ahead.

We enter, Finn hits the lights, all three men have weapons drawn, though I’m not sure why. The room is empty, absolutely stifling, but it’s clean, and I don’t know whether to be relieved or upset.

“Let’s split up,” Finn says. “You two take the one on the right. Keller and I will take the one on the left.”

Without speaking, Bryce and Mateus silently move to the right. It feels odd to know someone might be watching you. I remember what Nic said about being trailed, that sixth sense he had. I bet it wasn’t the feds. It was whoever did this.

As Finn and I approach we both notice the same thing. Something big was dragged here, recently. The disturbed sand is still slightly dark brown and hasn’t completely dried. Finn motions for me to get down.

He draws his weapon for a second time. Grabbing the latch-handle I push down and the door swings inside.

The first thing I see is Nic, tied up, suspended by some kind of grappling hook. There’s a bomb strapped onto his chest, and he’s gagged. Finn makes a move to run at him, but there’s something else.

In a nanosecond I see it in his eyes, fear. Fear for me, for Finn, for anyone in this room. His intense gaze shifts to something I can’t see but it’s enough for me to grab Finn. He instinctively tries to break free but then Bryce is there too, and he clamps another hand on his other shoulder.

“No boss. He’s wired. Look.” Bryce takes a pen light and in the semi-darkness, there’s a glimmer of a thread.

We enter slowly, looking for other trip wires. Mateus finds one. He steps over it carefully, moves behind Nic and quickly unties the gag. The dirty piece of cloth slips to the ground.

As soon as he can speak, Nic gasps, “Jim Graham.” He has to wait a moment to speak again. “You . . . need to go. Get . . . out,” he says.

His skin is pale, his hair a sweaty mess, his shirt is torn open and that blinking bomb taped to him flicks fear all the way to the back of my throat. His hands are blue. God knows how long he’s been hanging here.

“Report,” yells Finn to Bryce and Mateus who are already analyzing the two trip wires.

Bryce and Mateus come up on either side of Nic. Mateus speaks quickly but is very clear. “We need to calibrate the tension on the wire, replicate it, disengage the trips, and cut him out of the vest.”

Finn stares at the bomb attached to Nic’s chest. “Any idea if there’s also a remote?”

“Can’t tell yet,” Mateus says. He’s looking at the device with a pen light.

“I think . . . so,” Nic says.

Finn assesses his men and what has to happen and then closes the door. This is to contain the explosion if it does go off. We’re doing this together. Nic is conscious enough to figure this out.

“No. You need . . . to go. Get . . .out.” A tremor runs through Nic’s voice and body. He’s so weak he can’t control it. His lungs are probably filling at this point. If he’s been hanging here longer than fifteen minutes, suspension trauma can set in and he’ll suffocate. When the person’s full weight is on arms suspended above the head, organs start to fail. That’s when I see he’s struggling to stand on the edge of a crappy, shallow box.

Finn picks up a filthy strip of cloth from the floor and gives it a quick sniff. “Chloroform,” he says. “Goddammit.” His phone vibrates with a text, and he checks it. Probably Carlson.

I take a step forward.

“Be very careful,” Bryce says.

Both men are on either side of Nic, working on the bomb, trying to disengage the wires.

I position myself directly in front of Nic, so we are eye to eye. The box he’s standing on makes up the two-inch height differential between us. Reaching down, I feel the tension in both wires and clamp my fingers over them, trying to mimic the tensile strength in both.

Mateus gives me a nod of thanks.