‘Yeah, but I should’ve won on a technicality,’ Smudge argued. ‘The guy was supposed to have been in it at the time.’
‘You’re a sore loser, Smudge,’ Smiv chimed in.
‘I accepted it, didn’t I? I’m moving on. Stratton was the one who said he could do anything with explosives and I’m offering him another chance to prove it. What do you say? Double the Mosul bet? Two hundred quid says you can’t do it.’
Stratton was more interested in the challenge than the money.
‘I’ll match Smudge’s two ’undred,’ Bracken said.
‘I’ll ’ave some of that,’ added Smiv. ‘I can’t see how he can do that.’
‘You in, Jack?’ Smudge asked.
‘If Stratton says it can be done,’ Jack said.
They all looked at Stratton who was still studying the problem.
‘What do you think?’ Smudge asked him.
‘The question is not if, but how,’ Stratton answered.
‘No,’ Smudge said, challenging him. ‘The question is, my friend, can you do it?’
They watched Stratton study the table, the glass, the air above, and even the surrounding area. Finally he stood back, put his hands on his hips, exhaled deeply and nodded to himself.
‘Is that a yes?’ Smudge asked.
‘Yes,’ Stratton finally said.
Smudge immediately looked concerned. He knew that Stratton was a master when it came to explosives but he was also canny and Smudge did not trust him. ‘One bang only,’ he reiterated.
Stratton nodded.
‘No touching any of the glass afterwards,’ Smudge added.
Stratton nodded again.
‘No picking the glass up with anything and putting it inside the bottle,’ Smudge added, trying to cover every possible catch he could think of.
‘No picking the glass up afterwards,’ Stratton said, his eyes never leaving the table as he finalised his solution. ‘Any more rules?’
Smudge looked around at the others in case they had any to add, hoping that someone had thought of something. But there was only silence. ‘Okay,’ he said.
‘I’ll match the two hundred, then,’ Jack said. ‘But my money’s on Stratton.’
‘Easy money.’ Smudge smirked.
‘Gotta go with the track record,’ Jack said.
‘Can I get in on this?’ Seaton asked, making his way into the group.
‘Absolutely,’ Smudge said. ‘’Ow much?’
‘What’s the going bet?’ the American asked.
‘Jack has two hundred,’ Smudge said.
‘Two hundred it is, then,’ Seaton said, getting out his money.
‘Right. Two hundred against,’ Smudge said as he reached for the notes.
‘No. I’d never bet against Stratton,’ Seaton said, handing the money over.
Smudge’s confidence was rocked a little once again, but he recovered. ‘Your money … Right, then,’ Smudge said as he picked a flower from the tree and put it into the flute. ‘That has to stay in the glass that ends up in the bottle.’
‘You can’t add on things after the bet,’ Jack said.
‘The flower doesn’t matter,’ Stratton said. ‘Nice touch, Smudge.’
Smudge frowned as he held out the briefcase, insisting to himself that Stratton was bluffing.
Stratton took the case, placed it on the table and opened it up. Inside was a series of neatly organised compartments, a pristine surgical pack filled with an assortment of micro-explosives that included: a metre reel of detonator cord or cortex no thicker than a piece of spaghetti, a two-metre reel of very fine slow-burning fuse, a cartridge of four micro-detonators, a pack of PE5 (Super-X) plastic explosive packed in thin cellophane sheets like sliced processed cheese, three timers, one electronic, one mechanical and one chemical, two radio-receiver detonators, a ceramic surgical knife (non-metallic), a heavy-duty multi-tool ‘work man’ that included pliers, scissors and various other utensils, a roll of electrician’s tape, a spool of nylon fishing line, an assortment of screws and tacks, several paper-thin magnetic strips, and a remote-detonation transmitter and continuity tester.
Stratton removed the detonating cord, unravelled a short length which he cut off using the ceramic blade, then began pulling it carefully through his fingers.
‘Why’s he doing that?’ Bracken asked.
‘He’s stretching it to thin it out,’ Jack informed him.
‘I see.’ Bracken nodded. ‘Why?’
‘He’s making it a weaker charge, I suppose.’
Stratton eased the cortex through his fingers, being careful not to break it. When it was half its original thickness he wrapped it once around the neck of the bottle, just above its widest point, and cut it precisely where the ends met. The men were joined by several others and they watched with interest as Stratton removed a small piece of electrician’s tape which he stuck to the face of his wristwatch. Then he cut two lengths of slow-burning fuse, one twelve inches long, the other double that. He attached the shorter fuse to a micro-detonator and carefully placed its tip where the two ends of the cortex met, securing it in place with the tape where it sat like a bracelet.
Stratton reached for the glass.
‘Uh-uh,’ Smudge quickly interrupted. ‘You can’t move anything. You gotta leave it in place as is.’
Stratton didn’t appear bothered about the rule revision and went back to the briefcase. He removed the reel of fishing line, unwound a couple of metres and looked up into the tree that loomed over the table. The men followed his gaze and watched the end of the line float skywards over a branch and back into his hand. He flicked the line along the branch until it was above the glass. Then he cut it, tied a slip knot and pulled it to the top of the line where it tightened in place. He released the line to check that it dangled directly above the glass, which it did nicely, then turned the line several times around the thickest part of the glass and tied it off with a knot.
‘What’s he doing?’ Smudge asked.
‘Shut up, Smudge,’ Smiv said. ‘He’s not doing anything you said he couldn’t.’
‘Whose side are you on, anyway?’ Smudge asked him.
‘I still don’t think he can do it but I’d like to see him try.’
Smudge frowned.
Josh’s head rose up between the men beside Stratton. ‘What you doing, Stratton?’
‘I’m going to blow some fat.’
‘Wow,’ Josh replied, eyes wide.
‘Would you like to light the fuse?’
Josh’s eyes lit up even more. No other reply was necessary.
The final touch was the long piece of fuse, which Stratton wrapped one end of around the nylon line just above the champagne glass. He placed the other end beside the end of the smaller fuse-line attached to the detonator.
Several discussions immediately broke out among the men – descriptions of what was meant to happen and estimates of varying degrees of success. The general consensus seemed to be that it was an interesting idea but a doomed one.
‘You want to get everyone inside?’ Stratton asked Jack.
A moment later the children and wives were being herded into the house. A man with a well-developed gut and a decidedly unspecial-forces-like bearing who had been talking to several of the wives and not paying attention to the goings-on in the corner of the garden joined the men heading into the house. ‘What’s happening?’ he asked.
‘A party trick,’ Jack said.
‘Oh, great. What is it?’
‘The explosive kind,’ Bracken explained.
‘Explosive. Inside the house?’ The man chuckled, not believing them.
‘No. Outside. That’s why we’re going inside,’ Bracken said.
The man stopped in the doorway, looking as if he’d misheard. ‘Not real explosives, surely?’
‘Yeah. As in boom boom,’ Smiv said.
‘Real explosives?’ the man asked again.