everything out.
His walkie-talkie squawked.
“Ty, this is Grant. I found one, right next to the main gas line.”
“What does it look like?” Locke said into the walkie-talkie as he continued to search.
“Black, rectangular, 12 by 4 by 4 inches. LED readout matching our dead man’s timer. The detonator casing is wrapped around the C-4.”
That wasn’t good. It would make the bomb trickier to disarm.
“Mercury switch?” Locke said. Some bombs were activated by a motion sensor.
“Uh…nine minutes, guys,” Hobson said.
“Thanks, Frank,” Locke said. “You’re doing great.”
“Negative on the mercury switch,” Grant said. “He couldn’t have placed it where it is and then armed it. Guess he thought vibrations might set it off prematurely. It’s just laying there, hidden under a pipe. No attachment to the rig.”
That was good. Meant it could be moved. But they couldn’t simply dump it over the side of the platform. The wave action might land it on a feed pipe, causing a gas explosion underneath the platform, or the bomb might fall next to one of the support pillars. If one of those gave way, the entire rig might topple into the ocean. Neither was a pleasant thought.
“Disposal?” Grant said.
“I’m thinking about it. Go help Finn find the second one.”
“On my way.”
Locke continued searching as fast as he could. He was halfway along the wall when Hobson called out, “Eight minutes.” Locke cursed under his breath and kept going. Maybe giving Hobson the watch was a bad idea. Then he heard Dilara yell to him from across the room.
“Tyler, come here!”
He rushed over, drawing attention to the area. By this time, people had already seen Dilara’s find and started speculating about what it was, but Locke didn’t have time to calm them down.
“I think I found it,” Dilara said, pointing at the object.
It was just as Grant described. The C-4 was hidden behind some gas masks on the top shelf of a storage locker. After a cursory inspection, he couldn’t see any sign of a mercury switch. He pulled the bomb out to examine it.
“Seven minutes left,” Hobson said. The calls seemed to be coming faster, but Locke tried to ignore it and focus on the bomb.
He hadn’t seen anything so sophisticated since he left the Army. The brick of C-4 was enough to destroy the entire safety block. The detonator was clamped to the top of the brick. The detonator was wrapped around the explosive. If he tried to remove it, the bomb might explode. By prying open the case, Locke might be able to disarm it, but not all three bombs in less than seven minutes.
He got another call on the walkie-talkie from Grant.
“Ty, I’m with Finn. We found the second one. It was under the main diesel generator for the firefighting system right where you thought it would be.”
“Good. I’ve got the third one.”
“Disarm them?”
“Oh my God!” Hobson said. “Only six minutes now!”
“Not enough time,” Locke said.
The only other choice was to get rid of the bombs. He had to figure out a way to get them far away from the rig. Then he realized the means had been staring him in the face.
“Grant,” Locke said into the walkie-talkie, “you’ve still got the case?”
“The first two are already in it. They won’t rattle around in there.”
“Good. I’ve got an idea.”
THIRTEEN
Locke told Grant to meet him at the lifeboat station with the two bombs. Then he searched for a heavy metal bar, preferably an ax, something that he could use as an impact tool.
“An ax!” he yelled to the crowd. “A crowbar! Anything heavy!”
A man in a blue jumpsuit and tool belt answered him. “How about a hammer?” he said. He raised a handheld sledge and handed it to Locke.
“Perfect,” Locke said. He turned to Dilara. “Stay here.”
“But…”
He leaned over and whispered. “If this bomb blows up, the safest place on the rig is right where you’re standing.”
She wasn’t comforted. Her face was etched with fear.
Locke smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ve got a plan.”
That seemed to help. She didn’t protest further.
With the sledge in one hand and the bomb in the other, Locke flew through the exit and down the stairs. One flight down, he heard Hobson’s voice bleat from the walkie-talkie on his belt. “Five minutes!”
Locke reached his target, the chemical storage room. He threw open the door to see shelves lined with chemical bottles. Glass, plastic, and metal containers were haphazardly stacked in no discernable order. He ran his fingers over the labels searching for a bottle of acetone, the chemical in fingernail polish remover. On the rig, it was used as a heavy-duty degreaser.
“Four minutes!” Hobson said. “I’m heading to the safety block!”
Locke was beginning to think his plan might be screwed. He saw bottles of ammonia, benzene, hydrochloric acid, ethylene glycol, but no acetone. One of those other chemicals might work, but the only one he was sure of was acetone, and he couldn’t find it in this mess. He’d seen plane crash sites that were neater.
If he heard Hobson call out “three minutes” before he found the acetone, he’d have to take a chance with the benzene or ammonia.
Locke started shoving containers aside, looking in the back rows. He knew it was here. Then he saw a capital A on a plastic 16-ounce bottle. He twisted it around and saw the word, “Acetone.” He breathed easier now that it was in his hand.
“Three minutes left!”
Locke stuffed the acetone into his pocket and took off for the stairs, the grating clanging under his feet.
The lifeboat station was five levels below the safety block. He made it there just as Hobson said, “Two minutes.” Grant and Finn were waiting for him.
“Glad you could make it,” Grant said cheerily, but Locke could see the faint lines of tension around his eyes.
Although Finn’s face was white, he still had some of his bluster. “Where the hell have you been?”
“In your moronically-organized chemical storage room,” Locke said as he placed the third bomb in the case. Grant snapped it shut.
“Now what?” Grant asked.
“We’re going to put the bombs in one of the lifeboats and launch it.” The boats could be launched from the outside as well as inside. He handed the sledge to Grant and removed the acetone bottle from his pocket.
“In one of the lifeboats?” Finn protested. “But the doors are welded shut. How do we get the case inside?”
“Through the cupola window.”
“One minute!” Hobson shouted. This was getting a lot closer than Locke wanted.
“The windows are made of polycarbonate, genius,” Finn said. “They’re unbreakable.”
From his belt, Locke plucked his Leatherman tool — a sort of Swiss Army knife on steroids — and opened the saw blade, which he dragged across the window to score the surface.
