Alexander lay on the cold concrete floor, his large hand squeezing the black box. His knuckles were white. He could not move even a millimeter. If his finger slipped off the button, the bomb would go off instantly.
"Clara!" Alexander called out. His voice was tight and strained. "The timer is still running. The box only keeps it from blowing up early. You have to cut the main wire under the chair."
Clara ran over to Beatrice's chair. She looked down at the red sticks of dynamite. The small screen was flashing.
01:15.
One minute and fifteen seconds left.
"How?" Clara’s voice shook. "I don't have anything to cut it with!"
Inside the open vault, Julian was groaning on the floor, clutching his bleeding shoulder. He let out a wet, angry laugh. "You can't do it, Clara. Cut the wrong wire,
