8
The back of Abd al Bari’s cranial cap drops to the plane floor before the terrorist knows he’s dead.
“Hell is lucky to have you,” Sam mumbles.
But he doesn’t have time to revel in his victory over the terrorist. There’s a bomb to diffuse. That is, if it can be diffused at all. He bounds up, reaches for Mary’s seatbelt, unbuckles it. She’s groggy, nearly passed out from exposure to the wind. Her face is redder than a beet.
Something else is red too. The small light embedded into the laptop’s narrow side panel. It’s blinking red and green. Sam’s gut (and SEAL training) tells him that the blinking light can only mean the bomb’s timer is ticking down. A few of the passengers can see what’s happening.
“Do something,” a man yells. An elderly man. “Toss it out the hole in the wall.”
“It j
