Page 42 of Beachcomber Enemy

As he screeched the ambulance into the parking area of the school he heard and saw police cars coming in hot behind him.

He shoved out of the ambulance, taking the phone from his pocket and dialing Shana’s number.

“You son of a bitch, you better answer this damn phone.”

The picture flicked on and he saw Whitey and the doctor. They were inside and an IV was hitched to his arm.

“I’m here.” Dane maneuvered himself into the picture with the bomb, making note of the keypad and the pressure plate where the bomb stood with a glowing green digital readout ticking down relentlessly. There were under two minutes left until detonation.

It was so quiet he could have heard a mouse pee on cotton.

“Give me the damn code, you sick bastard.”

“I may be sick, but I’m not stupid. I want a deal.”

“There’s no time for a deal.”

“Give him whatever he wants,” Cap said. Dane saw the sweat trickling down the man’s right temple as he was poised with his shield less than three feet away.

“Fine. The state police captain has granted you asylum. You can leave the hospital unaccosted if you give us the code. Right. Now.”

Dane flashed his phone to include Cap in the picture. Seconds ticked by as Whitey considered it. He was surrounded by police and one lone doctor.

“Tell these men to back away from me. Order them to leave my room,” he said.

Cap barked out loud and clear, “You heard him, men. Leave the room. Now. That’s an order.”

The two officers looked at each other with disbelief, but they moved out of the picture.

“Now give me the damn code you f—cking son of a bitch.” Dane gritted out the words.

“Temper, temper.”

The readout was below one minute and Dane’s hand hovered over the keypad where he’d need to type in a five-digit code. He’d have to guess if it came to that. He remembered reading in Nash’s file the date of the last day of trial when Whitey got convicted. It had been January 12th. He’d tap in the date and year if it got to two seconds. All this strategy flashed through his head as he waited for Whitey Nash to make good. For once in his miserable life.

“The code.” Dane made his voice steely, leaving out the fear. Fear that he’d never see Shana again. Fear that Nash would finally get to her.

“A deal is a deal.” Nash laughed. “What was the date that will forever go down in infamy?”

“You bastard. Your trial—”

“No. Bzzzt. Try again.”

Dane searched his head, calling up visions of the information from the prison records. Then it dawned on him. It had to be the date that Shana arrested him. November first.

There were five seconds left.

He put his finger on the keypad to type in the date.

Cap yelled, “What are you doing?!”

“I’m typing in the damn code.” His fingers hit the numbers, got to the last one. He pressed his index finger on the number zero.

The green lights flashed twice and then, as he hovered there at ground zero waiting for the blast, the blinking stopped. The readout went black. The hum of the bomb’s electronics went silent.

He let out a long breath and backed away, slowly, still not trusting it.

“Jesus goddamn Christ. What the hell was that about?” Cap joined him as they both backed away, then turned and dashed back behind the line of shields set up around the bomb. “Send in the robot to dismantle this damn bomb,” Cap shouted.