“This is a simple system,” she said. “Here is the power source going to the timer, and these are the ignition leads going to each detonator. They weren’t worried about anti-handling and things like that, so I think if you cut the wire giving power to the unit, nothing will happen.”
Ryan looked at her.
“You’re sure?”
She shrugged.
“Not necessarily, but I think it’s worth a try. If it’s going to go off anyway, if it goes off a couple of minutes early, then we won’t have to worry for so long.”
He looked at the wire. There were two feeding into the box and at least eight heading out.
“Which wire?”
“Well, those black ones are the ones probably attached to the detonators. You might as well cut them, as that will stop all charges going off. This red one is the live feed, and the blue one is probably the neutral.”
“How do you know?”
“We had a system like this for a firework display when I was a kid in Holland.”
“Well, if this doesn’t work, thanks for everything,” Ryan said, kissing her.
At that moment three, black-clad SWAT team came through the door.
“Freeze!” one shouted.
Ryan Froze, with his knife on the point of cutting one of the wires. The clock still ticked.
“I’m an undercover DEA agent. They’ve rigged this place to blow in a couple of minutes. I suggest you let me finish, or we’re all dead,” he said, amazed at how calm he felt.
“Drop the weapon,” demanded the voice to Michelle, who complied.
“We’re both DEA agents. Contact Special Agent Ellis and he’ll confirm,” she said.
“On the ground, now!”
Ryan said, “You’ll just have to shoot me, and then the shit is going to hit more than just the fan; because the widows of all the guys on this operation are going to want to know why you did it.”
The man hesitated.
“You have a badge?”
“Don’t be a fool, we’re undercover, don’t you think that’s the first thing they’d spot?” Michelle asked, stepping in between the men with the guns and Ryan.
“Cut them, my love,” she said, staring at the three men, all of whom suddenly appeared uncertain.
“You know what you’re doing?” one asked.
“Not a clue; but in four minutes, we won’t fucking care,” Ryan said, cutting each of the black wires. Nothing happened, so he cut the red wire and the clock died. There were only three minutes and seventeen seconds to spare.
“There might be a secondary system,” she said.
“How do we know that?”
“Follow the black wires and see if one leads to a different place to the others.”
Ignoring the SWAT officers, the pair tried to do that, but there was no way to check beyond the duct into the next chamber.
One of the SWAT team used his radio and suddenly they all heard Sean’s voice confirm their identities.
“Sorry about that, sir, ma’am, but we had to,” said the loud man, as they all lowered their weapons. One saw the crumpled Ricardo on the floor.
“Who’s that?”
“That was Ricardo Candarez, one time crooked lawyer and the cartel’s main man in this damn operation. Michelle took him out as he set this damn bomb to blow,” Ryan explained.
“It is safe?”
“Shit, how the hell do I know? It hasn’t gone off yet, but there might be a secondary system already ticking for all we know. I suggest we get the hell out of here and get someone in who knows more than we do.”
The men didn’t feel like arguing with that statement. They passed the details about the explosives over the radio and then all five made for the exit. It had to be the stairwell as the elevator was out of action. Ryan took one look and grinned to Michelle.
“If you hear hissing, hold your breath,” he said.
“Huh?”
“They gassed me. I heard hissing but by the time I twigged, it was too late.”
It was a long way up, but when they were near the top, they passed two heavily armoured Bomb disposal technicians heading down. Ryan shrugged and went back down with them to show them where to go. Michelle wanted to go too, but he refused and told her very firmly to get the hell out.
They emerged into the night that was complicated by great noise and confusion. Flashing lights of a great many emergency vehicles lit up the night; a surprising amount of which were ambulances. There had been a lot of shots fired by both sides, so there were several wounded men. Most, Michelle saw, were of the bunker’s defenders. Few law enforcement casualties were apparent.
Uniformed cops, armed DEA teams and SWAT teams were milling about. Lines of the erstwhile and now disarmed security men were seated on the grass wearing handcuffs and being guarded by State Troopers. Baffled and shocked guests were sitting huddled in confused groups, still coming to terms with being woken in the middle of the night and finding their bastion of respectability was anything but.
The SWAT team led her over to where Sean was in conference with his immediate boss, Carl Oberon and several of the other team leaders. The press had arrived, so a Press Liaison officer was busy corralling them in a location from which they could cause minimal disruption.
Sean saw Michelle and grinned at her, the relief seemed to take years off him.
“We’ve only rough estimates at this time, Carl, but we’re looking at the single biggest haul in history. It makes what we seized from the island look like chicken feed,” he said.
Carl was finally looking pleased. This was a great success, one that would do his reputation and career prospects no harm whatsoever. With more than half an eye on public office, he was beaming with uncharacteristic good humour.
The whole scale of the operation was only now becoming known, with the huge underground warehouse and complex tunnel system hiding their every move.
“No wonder aerial reconnaissance failed to show anything,” one of the other men said.
“That’s right, they flew the drugs in to a remote area and trucked it here, storing it and shipping it out in small units; either using fast boats or innocent looking trucks. If one was stopped, there would be a negligible amount seized, so they correctly gambled on less than five percent of the couriers getting stopped,” Sean said, stepping aside to let Michelle come alongside. You remember our undercover agent?” he asked, pointing to Michelle.
Carl turned, recalling a little about employing an undercover agent but having forgotten the details. He was surprised to see a tall and very attractive girl.
He frowned for a moment.
“I thought we were using that guy Hobbs, the ex-cop from New York?”
“We did, sir. He was undercover as a security officer. Michelle here was pretending to be a British guest. Judging by what I’ve just heard, it seems that it was just as well we did.”
It was Michelle’s turn to frown. Sean Laughed and filled her in on what had just occurred.
“I’ve just spoken to Ryan on the phone. The bomb squad had cleared the device; so it seems your idea to cut the wires was a sound one. He also told me how you saved his life and killed Roberto.”
Michelle smiled.
“Then I guess we’re even, sir.”
“I guess you are. Good job, Michelle, damn good job.”
“It’s not over, though, is it?”
It was Carl Oberon who answered, probably due to the fact he saw a TV journalist approaching. He puffed out his chest and began a speech, addressing anyone in earshot.
“No, it’s not over, not by any stretch of the imagination. The war is still very much on, but we’ve just won a significant battle. Juan Carlos Mendoza is in the hills in Columbia. This end of his operation is in tatters and he has lost a substantial investment, both in terms of money, drugs and manpower. He has also lost a lot of face amongst his peers, so there will be those who may think that his time has waned and it is time for someone else to take control. That should take his attention for a while. Yes, they’ll be back, but we’ll always be waiting for them.”