“Hurry,” Alex hissed, ducking behind a fender. “I think somebody’s coming.”
Steve poked his head out from beneath Nimson’s Corvette. “Is it ...?”
Alex squinted in the night, saw a dark figure leaving the building. The figure appeared to have a briefcase in its hand. A bald spot shined beneath the parking lot’s sodium lights as the figure advanced. “s**t,” he cursed.
“Give me the bomb,” snapped Steve, holding up his hand.
“Are you crazy? He’s coming—”
“Hand me the goddamn bomb!”
Alex handed him a plastic container; it held three cylinders, a battery, and a clock. Steve took it and disappeared beneath the car again.
Nimson drew closer, his oxfords going thock-thock on the pavement. He was less than 30 yards away.
Alex remained crouched, shivering in the rain. “Come on, come on, come
