"She got exactly what she deserved. You should make your movies about missionaries, about the glory of God--"
"I'll show you my film! There's nothing glamorous about it."
Hathaway looked at her and smiled. "Rune, we all have to make sacrifices. You ought to be proud of what's going to happen to you. I think the press coverage should last a year. You're going to be famous."
He sat down on the small bed, spreading out the components of the bomb, examining each one carefully.
She eased forward, her feet sliding under the bed slightly.
Hathaway said, "Don't think about jumping at me." The box cutter she remembered from the first attack on the pier was in his hand. "I can hurt you in very painful ways. It's why I wear a red windbreaker--I sometimes have to hurt people. They sometimes bleed."
Rune sat back on the bed.
Hathaway spoke in a soothing tone as he pressed a white cylinder into the middle of the wad of explosive. "This is about three ounces of C-3." He looked up. "I wouldn't go into this detail normally but since you're going to be my partner in this project I thought you'd like to know a little about what to expect. It's not fair to let you think you can just pull the wires out and wait for help." He held up a black plastic box, which he pressed the explosive into. "And what we have here is very clever. A rocker box. It has a liquid mercury switch. If you pick it up and try to pull the detonator out the switch sets off the explosive. The battery's inside, so you can't cut the power." He ran wires to another small black box with a clock on it. "The timer. It's set and armed electronically. There's a shunt. If you disconnect the wire or cut it the detonator senses a drop in voltage and sets off the bomb." He smiled. "God gave men such miraculous brains, didn't he?"
"Please, I'll do whatever you want. Do you want me to make a movie about God? I can do that."
Hathaway looked at her for a moment. "You know, Rune, there are clergy that will accept repentance at any time, whether the sinner's acting of his own will or whether he's, say, being tortured." He shook his head. "But I'm funny. I need a little more sincerity than this situation warrants. So in answer to your question: No, I don't want a little whore like you to make a movie about God."
Rune said, "Yeah? And what do you think you are--a good Christian? Bullshit. You're a killer. That's all you are."
Hathaway's eyes lifted to her as he picked up the wire. "Swear all you like. God knows who His faithful are."
He stood back. "There we go." He placed the assembly of boxes and wires on the night table and slid it into the middle of the room. "Now let me tell you what's going to happen." He was proud. He looked critically at the ceiling and walls. "The explosion will take out most of the inner walls--they're only Sheetrock--and the floor and ceiling too. The outer wall is structural and shouldn't collapse. On the other hand you wouldn't want to be caught between that wall and the bomb."
Hathaway bounced on the floor near the bomb. "Wood." He shook his head. "Hadn't counted on that. Splinters are going to be a problem. Fire too. But you'll just have to hope for the best. Now, there's easily enough explosive here to kill you. In fact, I'd say you've got a twenty percent chance of getting killed outright. So I would suggest you take the mattresses and springs and lay them over you...." He looked around. "In that corner there. You'll be blown into the living room. It's hard to know exactly what'll happen but I can guarantee that you'll be permanently deafened and bli
nded. When C-3 goes off it spreads poisonous fumes. So even if you aren't blinded by the explosion you will be by the smoke. I think you'll probably lose an arm or leg or hand. Lung burns from the fumes. Can't tell for sure. Like I was saying, the splinters are going to be a problem. That's how most sailors were killed in nineteenth-century naval warfare, by the way. Splinters, not cannonballs. Did you know that?"
"Why are you doing this to me? What's the point?"
"So you'll tell everyone about us. People will believe us and they'll be afraid. You'll live off charity, you'll live off God's grace. You might die, of course. In fact, you can always choose that. Just pick it up." He gestured to the box. "But I hope you won't. I hope you realize what kind of good you can do, what kind of message you can leave for our poor sinful world."
"I know who you are. I can tell--"
"You know Warren Hathaway, which isn't, of course, my name. And how are you going to pick me out of a lineup without eyes?" He laughed, then nodded at her and said, "You have thirty minutes. May God forgive you."
Rune stared back at him.
Hathaway smiled and shook his head and left the room. She heard a half-dozen nails slamming into the frame of the door. Then there was silence. A moment later, the black box clicked and a red light came on. The hand of the clock started moving.
She ran to the window and drew her hand back to smash through the glass with her palm.
Suddenly the window went black and she gave a soft whimper as Hathaway began nailing the thick plywood sheet over the glass.
"No, no," she was crying, afraid the huge booming of the hammering would set off the bomb.
Ten minutes.
The canvas bag was at the gap by the gangplank.
Sam Healy took a deep breath. Looked at the containment vehicle.
The longest ten feet...
"How you doing, buddy?" the ops coordinator asked through the radio headset.
"Never been better," Healy replied.