We stop behind a bunch of pine trees right behind the Ferris Wheel. The blinking lights of the factory reveal its place, but it takes longer to see the small shape of the operating room a few meters away hidden under the shadows of the looming ride.
“Is Ferris awake?” Bunny says, looking over his shoulder from the driver’s seat.
Edwina, who is sitting at the back with some Cygnus bodyguards and Zeke whose face muscles are tight, shrugs. “I can make the bastard wake up.”
We file out silently, each of us on the look-out for danger. Alistair goes around the truck and opens the suitcases perched in the trunk.
“Team factory, take your assigned numbers when we’re ready,” he says. The bombs are as long as my forearms and thick as a brick. Coloured wires run tautly beneath, and a digital clock
