Dak maneuvered carefully to the door, aware that any bump could alter the pressure sensitive detonator and literally blow the roof off the building—and the two of them with it.
When they reached the door, he opened it and shoved Will into the hall. "One second."
Dak stepped back into the apartment and hurried over to the paddle board.
"Hey! Dak. What are you—" The door closed on his friend and muted the question.
Dak grabbed the paddle board off the wall and rushed back to the entryway and flung the door open again. He was greeted with a loathing, irritated glare from Will.
"What are you doing with my paddle board?" Will tried not to yell, but his impatience only swelled with every passing second.
"You're going to need to pull yourself along with your feet. Come on. We have to get to the elevator." Dak spun around and started toward the lift. Will followed more slowly, still confused as he rolled along—pulling his way forward with his heels.
Dak hit the down button and turned to his friend. "We need to get you in the water."
"What are you talking about? I have a bomb. Under. My butt!"
"Yes, I noticed. So, the chair is pneumatic. If we can get the pressure equalized, it should keep it from changing what the sensor on the detonator detects. So we fill it with water."
Will stared at him. "Seriously?"
"Maybe."
"Maybe? I need a little better than maybe, Dak."
"A minute ago you told me to leave. You'd resigned yourself to a fiery death. You don't sound so sure now."
"Yeah, okay. I don't want to die. But if you wanted to fill the pneumatic cylinder with water, why didn't you just use the hose in the sink?"
"Won't work that way," Dak said.
The elevator dinged, and the doors opened. A young couple in summer wear stepped off and looked at the two men with curious bewilderment, then meandered down the hall to their apartment, occasionally looking back at the odd sight of one man taped in an office chair and the other with a paddle board.
Dak pushed Will into the elevator, then tilted the paddle board at an angle to work it into the corner. "Could you hit the button?" Dak said. "My hands are full."
Will rolled his eyes and pressed the button for the ground floor. "You were saying?"
"Right. To make sure we keep the pressure distribution even, it's probably safest to submerge the entire chair."
"Okay… so why do you need the paddle board?"
"Sand. You won't be able to roll across the sand in that. So, I'm going to roll you onto the board and pull the board across the sand until we reach the water."
Will shook his head in disbelief. "I'm dead. Actually, we're both dead."
"It's going to work, Will. You just have to trust me."
"Why can't we just get in the pool. You know there's a pool here, right? Or did you forget?"
"It has to be gradual. If you rolled off into the pool, the chair would shift suddenly on impact, the pressure sensor would detonate, and, well, you know the rest."
The elevator dinged on the second floor and the doors opened. A middle-aged man with a thick graying beard and matching locks stepped in. He clutched a six-pack of Czech Pilsner in his right hand and a baguette with steak and cheese in the other.
He looked at the buttons, noted the one for the ground floor was illuminated, and turned around to face the doors.
"You boys goin’ for a swim?" he asked in a sharp Irish accent.
"Something like that," Dak answered.
The Irishman nodded without turning around. Dak got the distinct impression this wasn't the strangest thing he'd seen, perhaps even that week.
When the lift dinged again, the doors opened into the lobby, and the Irishman strolled out. "Enjoy your swim, boys," he said with a nod of the head. Then he strolled toward the exit.
"Thanks. We will."
Will dragged himself off the elevator and into the lobby. Dak followed with the paddle board, banging it against the sides of the lift's doors on his way out. He rushed across to the main doorway leading out to the street and pulled open the glass doors. Will followed, albeit much slower, and carefully rolled over the threshold and out onto the sidewalk.
The two continued another twelve feet until they reached the main walkway. To the left, the sidewalk stretched toward town where restaurants, bars, and markets catered to tourists and locals. To the right, the path led down to the beach where a sparse collection of sunbathers warmed in the radiant sun and surfers waited for the waves to pick up.
Will stared down the hill in abject terror. The slope of the sidewalk was a five or six percent grade, and if they weren't careful, Will could easily roll out of control and crash.
"You better be sure about this," Will said, knowing his friend faced the same trepidation.
Dak nodded, ignoring the tidal wave of doubts to his plan. "Yep. It's going to be fine." He glanced down at Will. "Just, you know, go slow."
He didn't mention that a stolen glance at his watch told him they were down to less than fifteen minutes until the bomb detonated.
Four
Nazaré
Dak's guesstimate at the steepness of the sidewalk was a touch on the conservative side. He quickly realized that the gradient changed about eighty feet down the hill. The gentle slope turned into a precipitous nightmare.
Will found it increasingly difficult to keep a steady pace without losing control. He dug his heels, careful to keep the weight distribution even on the seat as he rolled forward.
Dak checked his watch more than once on the way down. Time was running out at a terrifying pace.
"Uh, Will?" Dak said, "not to make you panic or anything, but we only have about seven minutes left, so, if you could move a little faster…."
Will glowered at him. "I'm
