The Midas Code

He stooped to pick up the gun of Orr’s injured confederate, ready to give chase, but Riegert stopped him.

“I’ll get Orr!” He pointed at the man on the ground. “You make this guy tell you about the bomb.” Tyler nodded and tucked the pistol into his waistband. Riegert ran for the deli next to the bank being renovated into a restaurant. Tyler wanted to chase down Orr, but disarming the bomb had to be his first priority.

“What’s your name?” Grant said, nudging the man with his foot.

“Crenshaw,” the man said with a grimace, still holding his leg. “Peter Crenshaw. We have to get out of here.”

Tyler grabbed him by the collar. “Crenshaw, is the strontium bomb already set to detonate?”

Crenshaw looked surprised that Tyler would know about it.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Crenshaw said.

“The FBI found a lead hazmat suit at the warehouse you blew up. Half the building showed traces of radioactivity. That jog your memory?”

Crenshaw nodded slowly.

“Did you set it to go off?”

Crenshaw nodded again.

“When?”

Crenshaw held up his watch. It was counting down and just under the eight-minute mark. Even if the bomb squad were on-site now, that amount of time would be slicing it thin, but Tyler had no idea when they would get here. It would be up to him and Grant to secure the bomb.

Grant took the watch and put it on. “How do we disarm it?” he said, taking Crenshaw from Tyler and hauling him to his feet.

Crenshaw shook his head. “You can’t. I designed it so that no one could disable it once it was armed.”

“Where is it?” Tyler demanded.

“It’s in the center of the trailer, but I’m telling you we have to go.”

“Describe it. Now!”

Crenshaw hesitated until Grant increased the pressure of his grip. “Okay! Okay! It’s two separate parts, unconnected but both synchronized to identical timers. The black box is the lead shield for the strontium, and it’s packed with C4, so the shield gets blown apart one second before the main bomb explodes.”

“How big is the main bomb?” Grant asked.

“Five hundred pounds, plus three hundred gallons of gas to incinerate the sawdust.”

Holy God! Tyler thought. That was enough explosive to wipe out the entire block.

“How do we disarm it?” Grant said, shaking Crenshaw, who began to blubber.

“You can’t. No one can. I designed it with a collapsible circuit. Please! We need to leave.”

“I’ll get the Geiger counter,” Grant said, and dragged Crenshaw to the FBI vehicle so that Immel could keep an eye on him.

Tyler recognized Orr’s backpack lying on the ground. He unzipped it and saw that it still held Midas’s hand, the golden hand, and the Archimedes Codex. Tyler couldn’t let Orr get the Touch back, so he pulled the pack over his shoulders.

Armed with the Geiger counter, Grant was first up the trailer’s ladder, followed by Tyler. They trotted along the taut tarp stretched across the open trailer. Tyler sliced it open with his Leatherman. He and Grant pulled it back to reveal the pile of sawdust that filled the truck all the way up to the tarp. It had the consistency of mulch and supported their weight. Grant waved the Geiger counter over it until he found the strongest reading.

They dug, revealing a black metal box buried in the sawdust.

Tyler checked his watch. Seven minutes left.

“Which bomb do you want?” Grant asked. He was already on Tyler’s wavelength. They had to separate the bombs, or they’d have a radioactive cloud over the entire downtown area.

“You’re the better truck driver,” Tyler said. “Find someplace empty.”

Grant glared at him. “In Manhattan?”

“Just do your best. First, help me carry the strontium bomb. We’ll take it off the back of the truck.”

“And then what?”

Tyler remembered the new bank building and turned to look at it, but the bank renovation next to it caught his eye.

Wine and dine inside an actual turn-of-the-century bank vault.

“The old vault in the Safe Cracker restaurant,” Tyler said. “If I can put the bomb in there and close the door, it should contain the blast.” And he wouldn’t have to destroy the new bank’s vault in the process.

They heaved the black box up. Their combined strength was barely enough to lift the lead container. They got back onto the tarp and shuffled to the back of the truck, Tyler’s ribs howling all the way.

After they put the box down, Grant dropped over the side to open the rear doors. Tyler looked over the edge to see sawdust pour out, forming a pile on the asphalt.

“Okay!” Grant shouted.

Tyler sliced through the tarp and fell through the tear with the lead box next to him, guiding it as he slid down the avalanche of sawdust.

Grant met him at the bottom with a handcart.

“Courtesy of the delivery truck across the street,” he said.

They put the lead box on the cart.

“Go!” Tyler yelled as he dashed across the street with the cart.

By this time, four police cruisers had converged on the truck. Immel was directing them despite her injury. Running for the truck cab, Grant shouted at her.

“There’s a bomb in this truck and it’s about to go off! Where’s the bomb squad?”

“Jesus,” she said. “They’re five minutes out.”