Chapter 61
61 In the cabin doorway, Noah chortles. “Really, Salton? That’s a tool of unintelligent madmen. I might question your sanity, but never your intelligence.” “Stay right where you are.” The wooden floor hurts my knees; when did I get those bruises? “Just so there’s no misunderstandings: I’m taking my hand out of my pocket.” My hand fits snugly into that thigh pocket. Especially snugly, wrapped around my last brick of plastic explosive. Very especially since I can’t take my thumb off the detonator button. Even a moment’s slip means death. The greasy brick of plastique squirms beneath its wax paper wrapper, no matter how tightly I squeeze it. With a methodical twist, I free my hand and hoist my prize high. Noah’s right. A dead man’s switch is for unintelligent madmen. I’d set the time
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