"You got all the time in the world."
Breathing. In, out. In, out.
He bent over the canvas bag and carefully closed the top. He couldn't keep it level holding it by the strap so he'd have to grip the base with both hands and pick it up.
He backed down the gangplank, then went down on one knee.
Breathe, breathe, breathe.
Steadiest hands in the business, someone had once said about Healy. Well, he needed that skill now. Fucking rocker switches.
He bent forward.
"Oh, Jesus Christ," came the staticky voice in the radio.
Healy froze, looked back.
The ops coordinator, Rubin and the other men from the squad were gesturing into the river, waving madly. Healy looked where their attention was focused. Shit! A speedboat, doing thirty knots, was racing along, close to the shore, churning up a huge wake. The boater and his passenger--a blonde in sunglasses--saw the BOMB SQUAD crew's gesturing and waved back, smiling.
In ten seconds the huge wake would hit the boat, jostle it and set off the rocker switch.
"Sam, get the fuck outa there. Just run."
But Healy was frozen, staring at the registration number of the speedboat. The last two numbers were a one and a five.
Fifteen.
Oh, Christ.
"Run!"
But he knew it would be pointless. You can't run in a bomb suit. And besides, the whole dock would vanish in the fiery hurricane of burning propane.
The wake was twenty feet away.
He bent, picked up the bag with both hands, and started down the gangplank.
Ten feet from the houseboat.
Halfway down the gangplank.
Five feet.
"Go, Sam!"
Two steps and he'd be on the pier.
But he didn't make it.
Just as he was about to step onto the wood of the pier the wake hit the houseboat. And it hit so violently that when the boat rocked, the gangplank unhooked and fell two feet to the pier. Healy was caught off balance and pitched forward, still clutching the bomb.
"Sam!"
He twisted to the side, to get his body between the bag and the propane barge, thinking: I'm dead but maybe the suit'll stop the shrapnel.
With a thud he landed on the pier. Eyes closed, waiting to die, wondering how much pain he'd feel.
It was a moment before he realized that nothing had happened. And a moment after that before he realized he could vaguely hear music.