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"Jak? You okay in here?" came J.B.'s voice from the doorway. "Bastard got
away," he added in a rueful tone.
"Left gift," Jak replied. "Timer, plas-ex& only few minutes."
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"Want me to take a look?" the Armorer asked as he came up to where Jak was
crouched.
The albino nodded, and J.B. knelt in front of the device while Jak drew back
to allow the Armorer room to work. He also turned to stop the others from
entering, as he could hear them approach. Having met up as they all made their
way to the sound of the disturbance, they were clustered just outside the
refinery block.
"Take cover. Bomb," Jak said simply.
Outside, glances were exchanged. Ryan nodded briefly at Jak and motioned the
others to move back a little.
Inside, the Armorer was studying the bomb. He knew more than enough about the
construction of timers and bombs to know that this was a crude but effective
device. In truth, there was more than enough plas-ex to do the job, and more
worryingly there were signs from an initial study that the wiring was crudely
connected to the chron. There was every chance that the device may not go off
on time. More alarmingly, it could be that the wires would short when he
disconnected them because of the way they were fitted. Actually disarming a
bomb like this was simple if it was well made. It was the crudity that made it
dangerous.
"Jak, get out and get the others to take cover," he said levelly.
"Sure?" Jak asked simply.
"Uh-huh. And hurry," the Armorer replied.
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Without taking his eyes from the bomb, dissecting every part of it to see if
there were some flaw he could detect, J.B. listened while Jak left the
building and told the others to take cover. He heard them move back in the
otherwise silent night, and only when their footfalls told of a sufficient
distance did he move.
His hands steady in the lamplight, J.B. took one of the wires joining the
chron and the plas-ex, and straightened it out so that he could see how much
slack he had to play with. The wire stretched for six inches, and he could lay
it on the flat metal surface of a valve plate. He then took his Tekna knife
and steadied the wire as it lay flat. This was something he had to do quickly
and cleanly. He had no wire cutters, so he had to use the whetted blade of the
Tekna to slice through the wire in one swift cut.
There could be no second chance, no opportunity to take a second cut.
J.B. was suddenly aware of the quiet around him, and the sweat that was
gathering on his forehead and running toward his eyes. It was now or never,
before the slightest glimmer of nerves or doubt caused his rock steady hand to
waver.
With his jaw set so tight that he could feel his teeth grind together, J.B.
sliced with the Tekna. The wire cut clean through in one move, and the blade
scored on the metal valve plate.
He could hear the ticking of the chron, could hear the in-time pounding of his
heart and the blood that coursed through his veins, could hear the silence
around and running through these as he was aware of one thing and one thing
alone.
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The bomb hadn't gone off, and he was still alive.
The Armorer slumped slightly, and then, drawing a deep breath, he sliced the
other wire and threw the chron across the room. He examined the plas-ex,
thinking that it would come in useful after he had ascertained whether or not
it had been stolen from the site's stocks. And only then did he call the
others.
THEY COLLECTED the horses and rode back to sec camp after checking for any
traces that could be found. Jak retrieved the chron from where the relieved
Armorer had thrown it, and it told them nothing, being just part of an old
wrist chron that was battered and dust gritted. The plas-ex didn't come from
the work site, as they immediately checked the types of plas-ex in the store
area. Not only was it of a different type, but also the store showed no signs
of breaking and entering. The tracks of the wag could have been from any
vehicle, and headed off to the road where they would be lost. There were also
no signs that the fuel tank of the wag had been hit. At least a trail of lost
fuel would suggest a chance of catching up with the saboteur.
Ryan reported the matter to Myall, who checked it in with Baron Silas via the
radio. When he asked why they hadn't used their handsets to call for
assistance, Ryan told him simply that no one could have arrived in time to
help, a point the sec chief had to concede.
Their patrol ended in the knowledge that they had stamped their authority on
part of the camp and had thwarted another attempt to sabotage the refinery,
but were still no nearer finding out who was responsible.
Although the odds were getting better on it being an outside job, as J.B. had
suspected. If so, it was then a matter of who or why.
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Something it would be hard to answer as long as trouble continued to distract
them within the camp.
THEIR NEXT PATROL was the following evening, and they had spent the day
resting and maintaining their arms before getting in a little more practice on
the horses. Mildred was still worried about Dean's allergy, and after he had
spent some time on horseback during the afternoon she had him in their
sleeping quarters, stripped and laid out on one of their makeshift beds.
"How's it been feeling?" she asked, examining the hives that littered his
upper body and thighs.
"Could be better," Dean replied, wincing as she probed at a small cluster on
his ribs. "At least I don't have any on my balls, which would drive me crazy,
or too many on my face. If they were near my eyes& "
"Yeah, that could be tricky," Mildred replied in a distracted tone. "Tell
me and be honest how have you been feeling?"
"Like I said, they don't itch too much, and they're manageable "
"I didn't mean the hives," Mildred cut in, with her voice showing an
underlying concern. "Tell me if you've been feeling unclear or drowsy."
Dean propped himself up on one elbow, meeting her steady gaze. "I haven't had
anything like that. What's this about?"
Mildred paused for a moment before replying. "It could be that I'm worrying
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