Everybody, Anjali, Mikhail, even Pietro, froze as a Republican trooper tried the door. But in a gambling den like this, the doors were reinforced, so the lock held.
There was a murmur too low to make out, as the soldier at the other side of the door spoke into his com. But Anjali didn’t need to understand the words to know what the soldier said. They were calling their commander, waiting for instructions.
The nano-thermite outline was about half-finished by now, but Anjali didn’t dare work much faster, for if the gel wasn’t precisely applied, this whole stunt wouldn’t work.
Mikhail crouched behind a heavy cabinet, covering the door with his blaster. Pietro had retreated into the furthest corner of the room, still nursing the whiskey bottle and clearly terrified. Anjali couldn’t even bla
