by Andy McNab
Three minutes, fifty seconds. He grabbed a claw hammer and tried levering out the timer. It wouldn’t budge. Solidly welded to an inner frame, it looked like high tensile steel. It might only be small, but even this size was enough to devastate the city and everyone in it.
He thought about Blackburn: had they finally listened to him? If this went off maybe they’d believe him — but you never knew with Americans. Once they’d made up their minds about something, or someone, they didn’t like to change them.
Okay, forget the timer: go for the detonator. He jumped back into the van. More tools — but nothing that looked useful. Wait — the van itself. He fell into the driving seat and turned on the ignition. Nothing. It was on a slight incline. He pushed his whole weight against the thing and moved it a few metres away, then set the van rolling, with just enough momentum to get over it. Push and steer, and just hope to God it worked. The rear wheels met the outer casing, dented it and split a seam. Good enough. He worked on that with the claw hammer for a full thirty seconds. Sirens now, a whole squadron, coming down the Rue Troyon. What took them so long?
01.50. One minute fifty seconds on the LED. Get to the detonator now — fused solid to the tubes. Someone really didn’t want this tampered with.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw a row of blue flashing lights. One or the other — not long now. At least he’d have company for the end. He got the claw hammer between the detonator and the tubes. It wasn’t moving though. Come on Dima! 00.48 now. One more idea. The cop cars were on the bridge. He looked down, and wondered if, just maybe, your focus gets that little bit sharper when you’re sure you’re going to die. He threw the hammer away, grasped the detonator in one bare hand, the rest of the device in the other, squeezed the detonator and twisted. 00.09, 00.08. Tighter! The whole detonator — it was attached like an oil cap on an engine — it turned a fraction, then some more. 04, 03, 02. .
Game over. Dima thought he saw 00.00. A fraction of a second while the mechanism showed its deadly signal. Then the brightest, whitest flash. And a sensation of flying, but no landing.
Epilogue
In the Bois de Boulogne, the leaves were rustling in the breeze, which was pleasant. Several tables away a small dog was refusing to stop yapping. The more pieces of cake its owner fed it the more it barked. Vladimir let out a low groan.
‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to shoot her.’
‘Do something to take his mind off it.’ Omorova said, lifting her gaze from her iPad so Dima could read her lips.
‘I’m off duty,’ said Dima from behind his dark glasses. ‘It’s Sunday. I’m here relaxing in Paris. And since I can’t hear anything because my eardrums are still shot, I’m fine thank you very much.’
He raised the binoculars again and scanned the promenading couples.
‘You know, you could be arrested for that.’
‘Whatever you think I’m doing, you’re wrong.’
Under their coffee cups and Ricard glasses was a Herald Tribune. Vladimir nodded at the headline. Marine Bomb Hero Cleared.
‘You think they made it up — so as not to be outdone?’ He read out the rest. ‘“Nuke terrorist slain after Subway chase.” Come on. One minute Blackburn’s in the slammer for icing his CO. Next he’s jumping the tracks chasing down public enemy number one on the New York Subway. Do me a favour.’
‘America has a free press. They don’t make stuff up. You have to believe they can do things like that. That’s why they run the world. Besides, I know my pal Blackburn is a man of infinite resource. That’s why I personally selected him for the job.’
‘Now you’re making stuff up. He’s the one told you it was Solomon.’
‘And you knew him for what — two hours?’
‘I’ve had romances shorter than that.’
Omorova looked at Vladimir, a trace of disgust in her otherwise sphinx-like expression, then smiled at Dima.
‘You proved one thing wrong — about us Ruskies always being the bad guys. In fact, it would be a good starting point for your memoirs. Could be a bestseller.’
‘Except I’d have to make up the last bit. I don’t remember a thing about it.’
‘The detonator blew, the rest didn’t because you’d detached it. You saved Paris.’
‘Yeah, but the French aren’t too happy with our role as their saviours. That’s why they majored on all the damage we did on the way.’
Dima found what he was looking for, put down the binoculars, grabbed his stick and heaved himself up from the table.
Omorova wagged a finger. ‘Steady now, we don’t want to have to scrape you off the tarmac a second time.’
‘Where’s he off to?’ asked Vladimir.
‘Unfinished business, I think,’ said Omorova.
Dima hadn’t worked out anything about what would happen as he struggled forward, the cast on his broken leg chafing. He hadn’t prepared a speech. He opted just to go with the flow, see where the conversation went and maybe — or maybe not. And that was just as well because what he had failed to spot as he tracked Adam Levalle and his girlfriend through the binoculars was the older couple not far behind.
‘Hey!’
Adam waved when he spotted Dima.
‘Well, this is a surprise.’
He grasped Dima’s hand, shook it hard, then embraced him. His girlfriend smiled.
‘Natalie, this is Dima — Mayakovsky.’
Adam turned to the older couple behind him, who were deep in conversation.
‘Dima, please — let me introduce you to my parents.’
‘Hey Mom, Dad — meet the Saviour of Paris. And my new hero.’
But Dima could find no words.
FIN
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