The timer's relentless countdown reflected in every face in the room—nine minutes, twelve seconds—each digit a hammer blow against Ral's fragmenting composure. The satellite feeds remained dark, communication channels silent except for static that sounded like the universe itself holding its breath.
"Can we disarm it remotely?" Nikolai demanded, already knowing the answer but needing to hear it spoken.
"Not without knowing which container is rigged, what type of device they used, and having access codes we don't possess," the FSB officer replied, her fingers flying across her tablet as she coordinated with Dutch bomb disposal teams. "Even if we had all that information, nine minutes is insufficient time to locate, access, and safely disarm an explosive device of unknown configuration."
