Chapter Sixteen
Wednesday, October 22
8:11 AM
Home of Bryce Connors
Henderson, Nevada
Lines of bright orange flame gushed along the den wall like water streaming from a fire hose. With a yell, Goldfarb backed off, covering his eyes as the wash of heat swept over him.
He hadn’t triggered an actual bomb, no huge explosion—but the tripwire had set off some kind of incendiary device. Within seconds the enclosed room became blanketed with crepe streamers of blazing fire that raced out into the hall spilling along weirdly defined pathways.
And now Goldfarb knew that the house’s chemical smell, the biting volatile tang in the air, came not from Connors’s bomb-making activities in the garage—it was the residue of accelerants, flammable chemicals the militiaman had painted on the walls and t
